Dry Tears
by Narutos Alter Ego
Summary: The pain of loss is like no other, and one needs to feel it to understand it. I felt it just hours ago, and that is how I could create this one-shot.


**A/N: My cousin who i considered a brother died literally hours ago. The last time i spoke with him i was not exactly on good terms with him. This is a little one-shot i made of what i think Sasuke would feel if he killed Naruto, using a bit of what i felt when i heard the news.**

This feeling, what is it? The raven haired shinobi stared down at the dead body in front of him, something being completely wrong in more ways then one. 'What is this feeling?' He looked at his hands and at the sword embed in front of him. Both were tainted with a sheet of still warm blood, both seemed to be responsible for this compression of his very soul, as if suffocating but at the same time feeling normal. No matter what he did or thought, this feeling of both grief and guilt creeping in his heart kept telling him that he should be crying, that he should be begging the one in front of him for forgiveness, that he should do _something_.

But he could not. He looked at the hole he had created on his chest, and he felt nothing. Just that same compression in his very soul that kept telling him to cry, but he could not. It was frustrating. He knew he was in pain, yet it was not there. He could not understand, the man lying dead in front of him was like a brother. Then why? Why could he not release those tears that he knew were there? Was it his pride? Or was he really that heartless? But that nagging sensation that kept crawling up and down his spine every few seconds did not leave.

His eyes felt dry, yet it was raining, he was confused. Was he really supposed to cry? But why? Because he was human perhaps? But even still he could not. It felt wrong, horribly wrong. He remembered the first time he met him, he thought of befriending him, for he had sufferered the same pain as he. But he did not, it was the other way around. Be befriended him. The cold and isolated Uchiha, the moody shinobi that did not want anyone close to him. But as he stared at the hole he had created on his chest he felt something. Something that tugged at the strings of his heart. It was like no pain he had ever felt.

Would crying help him? Why would it? It was only releasing crystal clear liquid from his red eyes, yet why did he feel like that would relieve him of this pain? He could not understand. Why it this occurring? Could he not stop this feeling by no other means? No. There was no other way. He felt it, something breaking inside of him when he saw his chest suddenly stop that rhythmic beat it naturally gave. His whole world froze for ten seconds, but to him it felt like ten years. Everything they had gone through together suddenly coming back to him, all of it, all of the good, and all of the bad, all of it coming back like a bucket of ice cold water.

Know he felt empty, as if reminiscing what he could of done with him, everything he could of told him, and everything he could of taught him. Buy now all of it had become pointless, he was dead, and he was alive. He had told him he would kill him, yet here he was now in front of his dead body, yet he felt no sense of accomplishment. Why? How could this dobe affect him so much? He felt anger, frustration, and resentment towards him. Why did he die? Why couldn't he be alive? Why the hell did he do it?! It was his fault! Not his! He was not fast enough! He was not strong enough! He was an idiot! But he was his idiot! Now he was dead, because of him, because he delivered that final blow that took his last breath.

He could feel various signatures coming in close to his position, all of them hostile. But he did not care. They could kill him if they wished, maybe then he could see if the other world existed. For some reason he felt like he could ask the dead body in front of him, and he could give him an answer. Yet at the same time he felt like it would be pointless. He stared at the sky, the only witness and accomplice of his crime. It had helped him, and now he hated it. Why did it help him? Why did not ignore its plea to kill him, he felt like blaming the very air he was breathing for his death, but he knew he could not, for he was the one to kill him, not the innocent sky or air. If he could revive him he would, but he knew there was no solution for death, but if he could, then he would beg his forgiveness, he would beg him to take him back home, to spar with him, to go and have a few bowels of ramen with him. But now it was pointless.

For the bastard had left him alone.

Alone again.

The raven haired teen fell to his knees, his eyes finally wide in realization. He struck both his clenched fists on the hard ground, his head touching the mud, and wept. The pressure on his soul lifting with every tear.


End file.
